


Reaper

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Sherlock is the Grim Reaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9904118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: Sherlock is the Grim Reaper. John gets shot in Afghanistan. Neither are what the other expects.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Жнец (Reaper)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9923753) by [Merla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merla/pseuds/Merla)



“Well you certainly don’t look like how you do in the movies.”

Sherlock was brought up short by the man lying on the rocky outcropping. Soldier, shortish, blond, in the tan fatigues which indicated Her Majesty’s armed services. Large bullet wound through the left shoulder. No need to consult the written list Mycroft always insisted he carry around with him - this was definitely the man. “John Hamish Watson?” he asked anyway.

The soldier - John - actually smiled at him a bit, which was a first. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “You’re British. The bloody Grim Reaper has a British accent. Why are you British?”

That question was a first, too. “Because I live in London,” Sherlock answered. “Why are you not afraid of me?”

John shrugged, as well as he could with one nearly-destroyed shoulder. “Figured I’d meet you sooner or later. Probably sooner. Why don’t you have the . . .” He gestured vaguely to his head. “The hood, and the scythe, and the drapey black fashion sense? Don’t get me wrong, that coat is a good look for you, but it’s just not as . . . sorry. Bit rude of me.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever apologized to me before.”

“I’m a bit off my usual,” John said with a hint of a giggle. “On account of being shot and bleeding out in the middle of the bloody desert, is all.”

“Yes, well.”

“You’re here for my soul, I take it?”

“That was the plan.”

“Was?” John cocked his head to the side. “Christ, you’re tall. Sorry again - guess I shouldn’t swear like that in front of you. Are you supposed to be a kind of angel, or is that a different mythology? I can’t remember.”

“Not an angel.” Mycroft was an archangel (as well as a know-it-all busybody) and that was as close to heaven as Sherlock wanted to get, thankyouverymuch. “More like a consulting gig.”

“Ah, right then. So what do you do with them? Souls?” John eyed the waistline of Sherlock’s coat like he expected there to be hidden soul-carrying pockets. “Collect ‘em like baseball cards, or do you use them for something? Or is it just to keep them from lying around and cluttering up the landscape? Do you - oh, am I supposed to be doing something right now? My shoulder hurts like the devil, but I’m probably going into shock right now because suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad. Although I didn’t really expect to be having a conversation with a handsome British bloke on my way out. Well, not _bloke,_ I know, but - that’s not offensive to you, is it? Being compared to a human? I don’t really have another term other than ‘The Grim Reaper’ and now that I’ve met you that really doesn’t seem to fit. Crap, I’m babbling. Ignore me; do your thing. The soul thing. I assume I won’t be needing it any more once I’m dead. With the way this mountainside was booby-trapped by the insurgents, I don’t really expect anyone to be coming back for me anyway. I mean, the only one who might miss me is my sister, and she’s blotto half the time so she probably doesn’t even remember-”

“John.” The chatter was coming too fast for Sherlock to entirely parse, which on its own was novel. _One more intriguing thing about Captain John Watson._ He really should collect the man’s soul and move on - there were others waiting and Mycroft’s patience was limited - but suddenly Sherlock couldn’t bear the thought of removing this fascinating man from the world of the living. John Watson wasn’t afraid of death at all. Was rather amused at it, actually. Sherlock had reaped souls from men who were arrogant, who had a death wish, who were caught by surprise, who were indifferent to their own survival, but John was the first to giggle. That was worth a reprimand from Mycroft, surely.

“I’m not going anywhere,” John stated. He lay back so he was stretched out on the rocky ground and smiling up at Sherlock with astonishingly dark blue eyes. “It was nice to meet you, though. Do you have a name?”

“Sherlock.”

“Hmm. It fits you.” He spread his arms out in a “here I am” gesture. “Whenever you’re ready, I suppose.”

 _Right, bollocks to this._ Sherlock teleported the entire man - minus the bullet in his shoulder - to the road right outside the nearest British military base.

***

“Bit different than in my day.”

Mike nodded and smiled back over his shoulder as he pushed the double doors to the morgue open. “You’ve no idea.”

“Mike,” a voice from inside the room said, “can I borrow your phone? No signal on . . .”

John froze in the doorway, his jaw probably hanging open. There was the Grim Reaper, _Sherlock,_ puttering around and asking Mike for his phone like they were old friends. Except they couldn’t be, because Sherlock wasn’t human. He couldn’t have been. John had spent endless hours in hospital and in rehab going over and over that point, but Sherlock _had_ to have been real. John would have never made it back from the ambush site otherwise.

“John Watson,” Sherlock murmured, staring just as blatantly back. “RAMC, just back from Afghanistan two, no, three months ago.”

Mike looked at John and then at Sherlock. “You two know each other?”

Sherlock’s “no” and John’s “we’ve met” crossed in midair.

John cleared his throat. “We may have run into each other once.”

Sherlock didn’t bother to elaborate. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he studied John more closely. Then . . . “How do you feel about the violin?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The shape of my heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572461) by [Obotligtnyfiken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obotligtnyfiken/pseuds/Obotligtnyfiken)




End file.
